


Video Game Character/Reader Imagines and Prompts

by QueenForADay



Category: Uncharted (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Injury Recovery, Loss, Multi, Pirate!AU, Prompt Fill, Smut, Swearing, Tumblr Ask Box Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-29
Updated: 2016-08-12
Packaged: 2018-07-18 21:53:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 15,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7331941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenForADay/pseuds/QueenForADay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of imagines and prompts about any Character/Reader pairing.</p><p>(This entire fic does not have one rating as it depends on Chapter. Please read the chapter's summary for rating/warnings (if applicable))</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sam Drake/Reader - Red Hands (General Rating)

**Author's Note:**

> Samuel Drake always knew how to get himself into a bit of trouble. Luckily the Reader knows how to patch him up again.

“So what do I need?” you say when you step into the living room.

Sam looks at you for a minute before he sighs. It’s the first thing you’ve said to him after he came back from what you now presume was a failed negotiation.

You push away from the doorframe and walk out into the living room. You nod your head towards the adjoining kitchen. “Sit down at the table,” you say.

He does so silently, only giving a small grunt of pain when he rests his arm on the table. If it were any other time, when he didn’t look as bad as he did now, you would admonish him for getting blood and dirt on the damn mahogany table. But the way his brow furrows and winces every time he takes a breath stops you.

You pull out the kit you keep in the kitchen. You have a few, all with the essentials – antiseptic wipes, rolled bandages and gauze dressings, and surgical equipment. You fish out the needle and thread you’ve learned to add over the years. Sam tended to walk out of negations looking like hell.

Putting the kit down on the table, you fish out what you need. Some of the cuts on him are deep, crusted with dried blood and dirt. A steady, thin stream of blood crawled down his face from an open cut on his temple.

He isn’t looking at you. He’s staring off into some corner of the room, but not looking at anything in particular.

“Where does it hurt the most?” you ask him quietly. In the silence of the room, it sounds louder than it should be.

Sam swallows. “My head hurts,” he answers, “and I’m pretty sure some bastard broke one of my ribs.”

You catch his chin between your thumb and forefinger. He lets you tilt his head around until you can see the cut on his temple better under the low light of your room.

“It doesn’t look that deep,” you say, reaching for one of the antiseptic wipes in the kit, “might need to be stitched up, though.”

“I can deal with that,” he smiles slightly, and just as quickly as it appeared, it was gone again.

He’s silent when you start wiping away the dirt and dried blood around the cut. He winces every so often when the wipe touched the open wound, and he jerks away slightly before apologising and returning to being still again.

“What did I do to deserve you?” you heard him mumble. You finish wiping the dried blood and dirt away.  

You put the wipe on the floor and reach for the needle and threat. Now that it’s clean you can see that it needs to be stitched, although only two or three.

You thread the needle and help him tilt his head back a bit more. “We’re out of anaesthetic cream,” your eyes soften slightly, “so this might hurt.”

He only nods and lets you work. You weren’t a nurse. You had no medical training. Everything you knew came from being friends with Nathan _I’m-A-Walking-Hazard_ Drake. Sam and Nate were your regular patients even before they went to prison. Calamities just seemed to happen whenever they were involved, so someone had to know how to patch them up. Sam often remarked that in no circumstances were they going to go to a hospital. How on Earth were they going to explain themselves – usually they were wanted in that city anyway, so that was off the table.

Eventually the job fell to you.

“Breathe,” Sam mumbled.

You looked down at him.

“When you stitch,” he says, “you hold your breath. You’re going to pass out on me one day darlin’.”

You roll your eyes and go back to stitching the cut. It closes without any trouble. You get another wipe and clean away the blood that trickled out of it.

His arms go around your waist. “Sam,” you say, but you’re cut off when he rests his forehead against you.

“I’m sorry.”

“We didn’t need the money-”

“-I’m not talkin’ about the fucking job,” he sighs. There’s a pause between you both. “I’m sorry for everything.”

You swallow the lump forming in your throat. It’s something he does more often than he should – apologising for what happened.

“When Nate told me that you were alive,” you say, pushing at his shoulders and framing his face with your hands, “I almost broke his damn nose.”

Sam frowned and you gave a dry laugh. “I thought he was lying to me,” you explain, “I had finally put you to rest in my mind, and there he was, telling me that you were alive.”

You reach up to run your thumb over his temple. “And then I saw you again. I thought you were a ghost, I thought that I was in a dream. I didn’t want to believe that you were here. But you were.”

Sam rests his forehead against you again. You comb your fingers through his hair, lightly messaging his scalp. “Don’t ever leave me again,” you say softly. There’s a slight heat behind your words.

“I won’t,” he mumbles. When he pulls away he looks up at you. “I love you.”

“I love you too asshole,” you smile at him. “Now, get your ass into the bedroom. I want to have a look at that rib.”

Sam raises an eyebrow. “I don’t think the bedroom would be the best place to-”

“-Bedroom,” you point in the direction of the bathroom. He struggles slightly to get out of the chair, but you catch his arm and help him up. “The years are catching up with you, old man.”

He stares blankly at you for a second. “Some asshole might have broken my rib and you’re _mocking me_.”

You kiss his cheek. “Absolutely,” you pat his cheek and follow him. When his jacket and shirt is off you almost wince when you see his side. It’s bruised badly – a combination of reds, blues, purples and yellow around the edges. You reach out to touch it and Sam flinches away. “Do I need to hold you down?” you ask.

Sam gives you a look. “Again, I don’t think it would be the right time to-”

“-Samuel Drake I swear to God-”

He laughs. It something you missed when he was gone for all of those years. You would never admit it, not to him or Nate or anyone, but when you were alone in your home for all of those years, you swore that you could still hear it. You could still see the way his eyes crinkled around the edges when he laughed, or how he smirked.

He let you look at his side. “It’s not broken,” you tell him, “it’s probably fractured.”

“It feels like it’s broken.”

You look up at him. “Well I’m telling you that it’s not.”

There’s not a lot you can do for him, only hand him a glass of water and a few painkillers. You help him lie down

You go to walk away, stopping when Sam reaches out for your hand. He takes it in his and squeezes slightly. “Stay.”

“Sam, I need to-”

“-Please.”

You sigh heavily before climbing on to the bed. You’re mindful of Sam’s side as you lie down. He shuffles slightly over to you, wincing as he moves.

You throw a light blanket over the both of you. “That’ll need time to heal,” you say, combing your fingers through his hair. He hums against your shoulder. “And sleep. So you’re not going to be leaving this bed Sam.”

“Fine by me,” Sam mumbled against your shoulder. You could feel his muscles starting to relax and his breathing become slow and deep. The painkillers must be kicking in then.

Outside, through the darkness of the night, you can see the faint hum of light from the main city. The hostel is at  the edge of the city. You didn’t think you could have coped with being in the main city with all of the noise and bright lights.

Being in a room like this – softly lit, mostly silent but for the faint muffled chatter of the people in the street outside, with Sam lying beside you – it reminds you of all of the old days. Before Sam and Nate went to prison. Before you found out Sam was dead. Before you found out Sam was _alive_.

“I can hear you thinkin’ darlin’,” Sam mumbles sleepily.

You rest your foreheads together and rub your nose against his. “Get some sleep thief,” you continued to run your fingers through Sam’s hair – it was something he adored, and something you did when you had to get him to sleep. He eventually does, leaving you wide awake in the emptiness of your bedroom. You stare up at the ceiling – water-stained and it’s paint cracking.

Sam shuffles slightly beside you, tugging you closer to him. His arm is around your waist with his fingers gently skimming along your bare skin from where your shirt has riled up.

“G’night thief,” you press a kiss to his forehead and relax against the bed. You would need to figure out a new way to get to that treasure. The job might be botched, but you knew that Sam wasn’t going to let it go.


	2. Sam Drake/Reader - Black Flag (Mature/Explicit Rating)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PIRATE!AU: The Reader and Sam see each other again. (Smut and Violence)

Nassau’s blazing sun hit your skin as you step out onto the deck of your ship.

No matter how many times you docked in the town, the heat was always the thing to undo you. Your crew were used to it. Men pass you carrying cargo on and off the ship, some start anchoring the ship, knowing that you’ll want to stay in the city for a few days.

You had taken enough sugar and rum off of cargo ships to last a few weeks.

You walk across the deck of your ship. Your quartermaster soon falls into step beside you.

She’s a young girl, like you, with dark skin and coal black hair.

“Is he here?” she asks you quietly as you walk towards the ship’s ladder to the dock.

You look over at the other side of the harbour. There, nestled between a number of other ships, is his, gently bobbing with the waves. A smile almost appears on your lips, but you school your expression to remain neutral.

You nod to your quartermaster, only allowing yourself to smile when you were off the ship and walking down the pier.

It had been months since you had seen him. You had sailed together once, then you had gotten your own ship with your own crew. You had your own life now. But you still missed him.

Nassau remains to be your meeting place.

Adowa, your quartermaster, keeps to your side as you walk towards the town. Other pirates and their crews are already docked and settled in the town’s many taverns and pleasure houses.

“Anne should be here too,” you give Adowa a knowing look. She shoves your shoulder.

You get to one tavern, smiling softly at the sound of music and loud boisterous laughter spilling out of it. Adowa eventually leaves your side, being swept away by one of the women in the tavern.

As you watch her leave, an arm wraps tightly around your waist and pulls you backwards into a warm body. You’re ready to punch the pirate in the nose, when you hear the familiar laughter.

“You almost got your nose broken, Samuel,” you smile and turn in his arm. Sam’s eyes crinkle when he laughs. It’s something you noticed years ago when you first met.

“I’m sure you would have done worse love,” he looks over your shoulder into the tavern. “I’ll buy you a drink to calm those nerves.”

He leads you into the tavern, but doesn’t touch you or hold your hand. He never does when you’re both in Nassau. When you both grab tankards of rum, you go to a corner of the tavern, dimly lit by a small open window. Salt and fresh wind blows softly into the tavern, lifting the heavy smell of rum, cooked meat and sweat away.

Sam sits on the log bench that runs along the wall. You sit at the other end of the table, idly running your finger around the rim of your cup.

“It’s been a while,” Sam says, taking a swig of his drink.

You nod. “We’re both busy,” you shrug, “which reminds me: how’s been the plundering at your side of the coast?”

Sam smiles. “It’s like cargo ships are being sent our way.”

You raise your eyebrow at him. “Good then?”

“Very good.”

Sam and you talk for the rest of the day, ordering more drinks until there’s the familiar warm buzz in your veins and your eyelids become a bit heavier. When the sun sets, some of the servers come to close the windows. You see Sam looking at one of the women with a small smile tugging at the corner of his lip.

You kick him underneath the table. “It’s rude to stare,” you say. Sam flashes you a smirk and sits back into his chair. Your conversation is long forgotten about as you knock back another gulp of rum.

There’s a table of pirates in the middle of the tavern. Every time you look over to the main bar, you’ve noticed Adowa staring at them with fire in her eyes. When you look over again, her gaze meets yours. She inclines her head to one of them in particular – a short man with greying hair, speaking a bit louder than the rest. You recognise him immediately.

“I swear, lads, all she does is warm Drake’s bed,” he laughs into his tankard. Your ears prick at the sound of the others around him laughing, but not as strongly. Sam goes to stand, but you hold out your hand and get up.

The laughter at the table suddenly stops, replaced with awkward coughs and muttered apologies. The man who’s been talking about you, though, keeps talking.

“Here she is!” he cheers, raising his tankard as he sees you walking towards him. “Samuel Drake’s favourite whore!”

Two of the pirates at the table leave. You note their appearances, storing that information away for later.

“I would advise you to shut your mouth now John Beckett before you say something truly stupid,” you say lowly, with enough heat behind your words to make his eyes widen slightly.

You make a show of grabbing your holstered pistol at your side. More pirates start to leave.

Adowa is standing behind the man, glaring at the back of his head. Her eyes wander up to yours. They’re full of the fire you’ve grown to love about them.

“One last chance John,” you warn him.

He puts his tankard down on the table, resting his hand beside it. “You can’t _warn_ me, woman. You shouldn’t even be here. Little dove like you should be back in the continent waiting to be married off like the other lords’ daughters.”

You pull out your pistol and let it hang to your side. Automatically, your crew stand up from their tables and pull out their own pistols. The servers in the tavern quickly get out of the main hall, getting behind the bar and into a back room.

You look over your shoulder. Sam is still sitting at your table, his arms folded over his chest.

When you turn back to John, you raise your hand and aim your pistol at him.

“You won’t shoot me, whore,” he sneers at you. Your hand doesn’t even shake. There was a point where it did. Years ago when you weren’t used to this life. Where taking another’s life was something horrid to you. Now though, the only time your hands shake is when you _haven’t_ taken a life.

John pushes back from the table, sitting back in his chair.

“Tell you what,” he eyes wander up and down your body, “why don’t you come sit on my lap, and we can work something out-”

Before you can blink, Adowa pulls out one of her long curved daggers and drives it straight down into John’s hand, pinning it to the wooden table. He lets out a guttural scream.

You drop your gun slightly, aiming instead for his shoulder, and shoot.

You turn to the rest of your crew. “Out,” you order. One by one, they leave silently. Sam still sits in the corner of the tavern, watching you closely. You holster your gun to your side and walk over to John’s writhing body. He’s grabbing at the handle of Adowa’s dagger, attempting to pull it out.

“Before I do that, I would make a plan,” you tell him, before catching his bearded chin between your forefinger and thumb. He’s eyes are wide. “There’re a lot of veins and arteries in the hand. You pull that out, and you’re going to bleed out – quite quickly, actually. I wold starting planning how quickly you can get to the doctor.”

You grab the handle of the dagger.

“I’ll give you three seconds to figure it out-”

“-P-Please Captain, I-I can’t,” he manages to stutter out.

Adowa circles around the table. “Henry Lock at the end of the street should be still open,” she says with a smile, “I wonder how quickly you can get to him.”

“My guess would be not very quickly,” your eyes wander over to his bleeding shoulder, “I’d get that looked at too if I were you.”

You quickly pull the dagger out of his hand. John gets up too quickly, stumbling out of the chair, and starts hauling himself towards the tavern’s door.

You clean the blood off of the dagger and hand it back to Adowa. She holsters it. “You know,” she folds her arms across her chest, “sometimes I want to come here without you causing a fight.”

You laugh. “You know me – I cause a fight wherever I go.”

 

Sam joins you on the deck of your ship. You both lean your arms on the wooden railing on the side of the ship. The candles and lanterns of the town give it a soft glow. It would almost look beautiful and romantic, if it wasn’t for the fact that this was a pirate’s capital.

He nudges your shoulder with his. “I’m going to the Galapagos in a few days,” he says, “I’d like to have you there with me.”

You look down at the water lapping at the side of the harbour and your ship. “Do you want me there, or my ships?”

“You, of course,” he says quietly. Even on your ship, away from the town and its people, you’re both careful. Everyone knows about you both. John is just one of the cases where that information causes something bad. You’ve worked too long to get the reputation you and your crew have. Being with Sam in the way that you are, it taints it. People get brave and call you every name under the sun, always ending up at _whore_.

Sam turns to face you, leaning his side against the railing of the ship. “I’ve missed you, you know.”

You look at him. “I’ve missed you too.”

He reaches out slowly and takes your hand in his. “I’ve been thinkin’,” he says, looking at your joined hands, “I want us to be partners again.”

You raise your eyebrow at him.

“I want to go back to what we used to do,” he says, “when we used to raid cargo ships together. When we used to harass the Spanish guards in Kingston together. I miss sailing with you. I miss seeing how your eyes light up when you see something new, or when the sun sets and turns the ocean red.”

You swallow a lump forming in your throat. “Sam-”

“-There’s no point in us doing our own thing,” he reasons, “why don’t we do things together like we used to?”

“Because of what the others will say,” you mumble.

“That’s bullshit and you know it,” Sam frowns. “I saw you plunge a dagger into a man’s hand because he called you a whore. I’ve seen you break a man’s arm for trying to cheat you out of a deal.”

You pull away from him slightly. You’re silently thankful for the cold night breeze blowing onto the deck. It’s the only thinking keeping you cool. You pull at the buckles of your jacket and start to walk towards your cabin.

Sam calls out to you.

“Come drink with me then,” you call back over your shoulder, “we can figure it out over rum.”

He follows you into your cabin. You throw your jacket onto the back of your desk chair. As you unbuckle your weapon’s belt, you watch Sam in the corner of your eye. He’s pouring you both a drink at the other side of the room, looking around your cabin. He points to a roll of red silk in the corner of the room. “Where’d you get that?”

“English cargo ship coming from India,” you answer him, dropping your guns and daggers onto the chair. He raises an eyebrow at you. “What? It’s not like the King needs it or anything.”

That gets a smile from him. Not the smirk he has on his face when he’s on his ship, or in the taverns. It’s a genuine smile that makes your stomach flip.

You flop down on to your bed, kicking off your boots and lying down. With an arm flung over your eyes, you gesture to the other side with your free hand. “Join me if you want,” you mumble. You reach out blindly and smiling when Sam hands you a glass.

The bed dips under his weight. “So,” he sighs, “what do you think about us being partners again?”

You shuffle around on the bed until your lying against the assortment of pillows at the head of the bed. Even though Sam is sitting in the middle of the bed, his legs are so long that his knee brushes against your leg. The familiar warmth is there. The warmth that you adored and sometimes missed.

You took a sip of your drink. “I can see a few benefits,” you shrug, “a bigger crew, a bigger fleet, shared treasure.”

Sam looks down at his glass with a faint smile. “I’d be by your side again.”

“Bad news for the cargo ships,” you chuckle.

“Worse news for their contractors.”

A silence settles between you both. You drain the last bit of rum from your glass and you set it down on to your bedside cabinet.

“If we work together again,” you say slowly, “what will that mean for us? Are we partners?”

“If you want us to be,” Sam shrugs.

You point a finger at him. “Don’t say that. Don’t leave this up to me.”

He drains the rest of his drink and puts away his glass. “Fine,” he says firmly, “what I want is for you to be at my side again. Not as my partner, not as my co-captain, but as someone who is mine. What we used to be.”

His voice fades slightly towards the end.

You look down at your hands. “I want you to be mine too Sam, but we need to be realistic: things happen, people talk-”

“-What will happen? Who will talk?” Sam argues. He runs his fingers through his hair and huffs out a breath. “Since when have you given a shit about what other people think?”

You hear the sheets move and suddenly Sam is sitting close to you. You look up at him.

“Sam,” you sigh. He leans forward until his forehead rests against yours, your noses brushing and your breath mingling between you.

The closeness is too much. You’ve missed him so much, but it’s too much.

“Tell me to leave, and I’ll leave,” Sam whispers. It sounds so loud in the silence of your cabin.

You swallow the lump forming in your throat. He reaches out and takes one of your hands. His thumb runs over your knuckles, scarred from years of sailing.

He says your name again. “If you want me to leave, I’ll go right back to my ship and I’ll be out of Nassau before you know it. I’ll never bother you again. I’m sorry for bringing it up-”

“-Don’t you _dare_ leave me again,” you growl before pressing your lips to his. He reaches up and cups your cheek. It’s soft and your lips barely moved, but it’s somehow enough. Sam pulls away slightly, pressing his forehead to yours.

Your breath is shaky.

“I take that as a _yes_ then?” he breathes.

You nod and wrap your arms around his neck, crawling into his lap and falling with him onto the bed. You’re no stranger to having a warm body in your bed. It’s the fact that it’s _Sam_ that does something to you. You untie the laces of his shirt, helping him out of it.

When he throws it across the cabin, you notice the new scars on his chest. You run your finger over one of them, a jagged line of healed skin just above his heart.

He puts his hand over yours and brings your knuckles to his lips. “A flesh wound,” he tries to ease your worry. His other hand is on the small of your back, slipping under your shirt. He shuffles you both into the middle of your bed.

Sam trails his lips down your neck, nipping lightly at the juncture between your neck and shoulder. You spread your legs around his waist and tighten your arms around his shoulders. His lips move back up your neck and capture yours again.

When you break away again, you reach for the ties of his trousers. He unties your shirt helping you out of it and throwing it into some part of the room. Eventually the rest of your clothes join it. You push at his shoulder, trying to get him to lie down, but Sam wraps his arm around your waist and rolling you both over. You loosely wrap your arms around his neck and bring him down into another kiss.

When Sam grinds his hips into yours, you gasp against his lips. “Are you sure about this?” he asks. Combing your fingers through his hair, you nod.

“Yeah,” you say softly. “You?”

He nods. “Just want to make sure,” he says, kissing at your neck again and making his way down to your collarbone.

You tilt your head to the side. “Hurry up though,” you sigh as he starts to nip again at your neck. “The crew will be back soon.”

“Like you’ve ever cared about them hearing,” Sam laughs against your neck.

Sam leans back up and captures your lips in a searing kiss. You bring your hand to the back of his head. His other hand catches your other one and pins it to the mattress beside your head. You feel his tongue trace along the seam of your lips.

You grind your hips against his, moaning into his mouth. It’s been too long since he’d been in your bed. It’s been too long since either of you felt like this. The feeling is always there, deep down, but you can never do anything to help it move along.

His fingers go down your body, stroking over your skin until they reach down to your core. He begins to stroke you gently, continuously kissing you as you relished in the feel of his fingers.

When his fingers leave you, you whine against his lips. “Patience love,” he smiles at you before reaching down to guide himself into you. The threat you had on the tip of your tongue dies as you feel him inside you. You gasp against his mouth, moaning slightly when he drops his forehead to your shoulder. “Christ,” he cursed, thrusting gently into you until he bottoms out.

You don’t move for a while, neither of you do. After a minute of shared breath, his eyes go dark slightly as he rolls you both over again. You settle above him with a low moan, putting your hands on his chest. He sits up to wrap an arm around your waist. He brushes your hair from your shoulder and presses wet kisses to your bare shoulder.

You’re the one to move first. You grind your hips against him, getting a gasped breath in response. You let your arms tighten around him as you brought him closer to you. The hand he has on your back nudges you closer too, and helping you move with him. It’s slow, and sweet, and everything you missed about it. Then again, sometimes you didn’t have this. You remember days were it was rough and passionate. This used to be something rare – the slowness and intimacy of it.

“You’re gorgeous,” he gasps, clenching his jaw. You frame his face with both of your hands and kiss him deeply again.

He pulls back and gasps your name, something that sounded like it’s punched out of him. “It’s been so long,” he mutters into your neck, almost apologetically. Neither of you were going to last that long anyway.

You let your arms go back around his neck, rocking and moving with him. You close your eyes for a minute, and he brings one hand to your back and rolls you both over back onto the mattress. You wrap your legs around his back, your feet slipping down to the small of his back. “It’s okay to come Sammy,” you whisper, tightening your fingers around the hair you had caught on the back of his head. He lets out a choked sound as his hips stutters, stilling when he finally comes. The movement and feel of it sent you over the edge as you tighten around him, groaning into his neck.

When you finally look at each other again, you brush a stray strand of hair back from Sam’s face. His eyes were still clear, searching yours.

“You okay?” you ask him.

He nods, gently pulling out of you and lying down to your side. You crawl into his arms, cuddling against his chest.

“I love you,” he mutters against the top of your head, pressing a kiss there.

You smiles softly into his neck. “I love you too.”

He leaves you briefly to grab a wet cloth and clean the both of you, then tugging one of your silken bedsheets over your bodies. As you catch your breath, you can hear footsteps on the deck. Your crew’s back, and by the amount of noise they were making, were pretty drunk.

“We’ll work something out later,” you mumble tiredly against his neck. Sam’s fingers run up and down your bare back.

“Get some sleep,” he says and presses another kiss to the top of your head.

When you get up the next morning, Adowa raises her eyebrow at you when you walk out of your cabin with Sam by your side. He flashes your quartermaster a gleaming smile before climbing down on to the pier and heading towards his own ship.

“Do I even want to know?” she folds her arms in front of her chest.

You shove your hands into your coat pockets. “We’ll be working with Captain Drake from now on lads,” you call to your crew. Adowa still looks at you suspiciously. “Set a course for the Galapagos.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posted also to my tumblr! yourqueenforayear.tumblr.com
> 
> Any prompts can be sent to my ask box or left in the comments below!


	3. Sam Drake/Reader - Stay Alive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PROMPT FILL: Hi!! I love your writing omg wow! Much good! Lots talent, wow! I am a huge, thirsty, Sam drake fan and I was wondering if you wanted to write an same drake/ female reader imagine? Basically when Nate and Sam were escaping the jail and Sam gets shot like he does in the game but they both make it out and the reader and Nate have to work to save Sam? Maybe (and only if you want too!), it could be a longer imagine? Like more special care of Sam? Like fluff stuff? Thank you so much!! You're awesome! - Tumblr Anon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning(s)!: Blood, Injuries, Swearing. 
> 
> Poor Sam.

To keep up appearances, you work in the local hospital.

Sam and Nathan were adamant about staying in that stupid prison, and you were sick of having nothing to do. You were qualified – studying for years to become a doctor, and then spending the years after that travelling the world with Nathan and Sam. They were disasters, so having a doctor around was useful.

You haven’t worked in a proper hospital for years though.

You sign off the last report of the day and hand it over to the doctor who’s replacing you for their shift. “Señor Rivera should be waking up from his operation,” you tell the replacement doctor, pointing down the quiet hallway to one of the recovery rooms.

When you were happy that everything is signed off, you say your goodbyes to the nurses and other doctors and step out on to the street in front of the hospital.

The hospital isn’t far from your apartment. Truthfully, Sully was the one who organised all of this. He was the one who got you forged transfer documents to work in the hospital and who got you accommodation. He’s the one who calls you every night asking the same question: are you okay? He sits through the nights were everything isn’t okay. Even when you say that you’re fine, he calls you out on your bullshit and sits through you talking about missing Nathan and Sam.

The apartment is plain, but you don’t need a lot in it. Nathan assured you this job wouldn’t take long. But here you were, months later, and still waiting for them to get out of prison with whatever it is that they needed to get.

You were walking down the street towards your apartment when your phone buzzed in your jacket pocket. When you fish it out, you frown at the blocked number that pops up on the screen. You look over your shoulder and take in the empty street. It’s starting to get dark, with the sun starting to set and painting the sky with shades of oranges and reds.

It’s tempting to shut your phone off. Blocked numbers always made you weary, especially working with the people you work with.

So you ignore it and walk down the street. Your apartment building is just a few blocks away when your phone rings again.

It’s the same number.

Fuck it, you think and answer the phone. You don’t answer verbally but let the voice on the other end begin the conversation.

You freeze when you recognise the voice.

“Nate?” you breathe.

Nathan’s on the other end frantically asking you a hundred questions. You look around the street again and start walking towards your apartment a bit quicker. “Nate, Nate, calm down,” you keep your voice quiet and slow.

“I-It’s Sam (Y/N),” Nathan gasps out. You can hear the pure terror and panic in his voice.

The world around you slowly starts to freeze in place as you try to breathe through the panic that’s rising in your own body. “Nathan what’s going on-”

He explains it to you, but honestly, you only hear and understand some of it. Between Nathan talking quickly and the sound of blood rushing through your ears, you only latch on to a few words.

Prison break.

Sam.

Shot.

Everything stops around you. You swallow the forming lump in your throat. “Where are you?” you ask simply, trying to keep your voice level and calm. “Can you get to my apartment?”

“We’re already here,” Nathan says simply.

When you burst through the door to your apartment, you kick it closed behind you and throw your bag and jacket to the floor. “Nathan!” you called out.

He runs out into the hallway from one of the apartment’s spare rooms. You walk quickly towards him and start rolling up the sleeves of your shirt. You notice how his hands are already stained with blood.

“He got shot in the back when we were nearly out,” Nathan explains. When you get into the room you school your expression into a calm one. Sam’s lying on the bed, on his stomach with his shirt off. Even from the door you can see the three entry wounds to the side of his lower back. You turn to Nathan. “Go out into the kitchen,” you tell him. “In one of the lower cabinets there’s a blue bag with medical stuff in it. Get it for me.”

Nathan runs out of the room and disappears down the hall.

You tie your hair back and walk around the bed to Sam’s side. His head is turned to the side and you can see flecks of blood around his mouth.

“Oh Sammy,” you say softly as you crouch down to take a better look.

Sam gives you a weak smile. “I told you I’d be out in no time darlin’.”

You smile back at him. “That you did,” you look at his eyes. They’re slightly glazed over and bloodshot. You run your fingers through his hair. “You’re going to be fine, you hear me?”

Nathan comes back with your medical bag. He puts it on the free space on the bed and opens it for you.

You fish out needle and surgical thread for closing the wounds. “Did you see any exit wounds?” you whisper to Nathan.

“Two,” he replies just as quietly. You nod and push the thread and needle to the side.

You take out a sterilized tweezers and scalpel. “Sit by his head,” you say.

Nathan walks around the bed and takes a seat on the bed, letting Sam rest his head on his knee. Sam reaches out for Nathan’s hand and links their fingers.

“Is surgery required Doc?” Sam asks with a faint smile. Even on death’s door the man can still joke around.

You look to Sam and then to Nathan. “If I can get this bullet out of you now then no,” you answer simply. The entry wound is clean so it should be easy to fish out the bullet.

Sam nods. “Can I keep it when you get it out, can I keep it?”

You see Nathan roll his eyes but you let out a short laugh. “Of course Sammy.”

All of the joking around though doesn’t stop your hands from shaking slightly. It doesn’t help the fact that the man you’ve loved ever since you first met him is lying in your apartment on his way to dying.

There’s still a tube of numbing cream you have in your bag. You squeeze out some of it and rub it around the wound. You see Sam’s back muscles tense and you rub his back with your other hand. “It’ll help with the pain Sammy,” you say softly.

When you’re happy tha the skin around the wound is numb, you start looking for the bullet. When you see it, you breathe a slight sigh of relief. It’s not too embedded in anything important, and should be an easy extraction.

When you grab the end of the bullet with the tweezers and start to pull it out, a gush of blood fills the passage. “Shit,” you swear under your breath. Nathan looks over to you with a worried expression. He says your name quietly, but you brush him off. “It’s fine,” you say quickly, reaching for a cloth to drain the blood.

Sam’s fingers tighten around Nathan’s hand. “You’re okay,” Nathan says quietly, keeping his eyes on his brother’s face. Every time his eyelids slip closed, he taps him on the side of the face.

 “We’ll need to get out of the city as soon as we can,” Nathan says after a minute.

You frown as you toss away another blood soaked cloth. “Let me stabilise Sam first, and then we can think about moving.”

You don’t miss the panic and fear that is hidden in Nathan’s eyes. You soften your expression and lower your voice. “He’ll be fine, Nate. Just…” you turn back to Sam’s back, “just give me a few minutes.”

With every passing second, Sam’s skin seems to lose a shade of colour.

“Sam, please, stay awake for me baby.” You’re almost proud of how firm your voice holds, despite the panic that’s running cold through your blood.

“You stay with me, okay?” you go back to tending to Sam’s wounds but you keep looking up at him. He nods faintly against Nathan’s knee.

The bleeding, you find out, is not as major as you thought. The thoughts of something major being hit by the bullet suddenly leaves your mind. “You’ll have a nasty bruise Sam,” you tell him as you pull out the bullet and press a clean cloth to the wound.

You reach for the threaded needle. Nathan gets up from the bed. It’s only then that you notice that they’re still wearing the blue clothing of the prison – you only know that because of the amount of prisoners sent your way from the jail whenever they have something wrong with them.

“The worst part is over,” you tell him as he passes. He still looks back to his brother. “Nate, he’ll be fine.”

 

You drag your feet along the floorboards as you walk out of the bedroom. Blood covers your hands and smears patches of your shirt and trousers, but your too tired to even care. Nathan is out in the kitchen with his head in his hands. He jumps up when he sees you walking into the kitchen.

“He’s asleep,” you tell him, watching how Nathan’s shoulders drop as they relax. “One of us will have to stay with him for the night.”

Nathan nods.

You scrub your hands in the sink, watching how the red-turned water flows down the drain. When the last bit of blood is gone, you feel arms go around you and wrap you in a tight hug.

That’s when the emotions come over you like a tidal wave.

You’re suddenly exhausted – your bones feel heavy and your legs are unable to support you anymore. You practically fall backwards into Nathan’s chest, his arms being the only things to keep you up.

“Thank you,” his voice shakes.

You don’t know how long you both stand there, but it’s enough time for the water on your hands to dry and grow cold. You turn in Nathan’s arms and hug him tightly. He needs it more than you do. His phone call to you still replays in your mind – how terrified and helpless he sounded. You pull away after a minute or so and frame his face with your hands. He’s crying and gasping in shallow breaths. “Keep your eyes on me,” you tell him, knowing where this is going. “Breathe with me.”

You breathe in slowly through your nose, hold it, and breathe out through your mouth. Nathan follows the pattern and soon he’s calm again. You keep the hold on his face, looking into his eyes. “This is probably a stupid question,” you say softly, “but are you okay?”

He swallows thickly and nods. “Better,” he rasps.

You nod too, letting go of him and looking to the hallway. “I should get back to Sam.”

“I can look after him tonight,” Nathan stops you from walking towards the hallway. “I know how tired you must be.”

You snort. “You just escaped from a jail.”

He shrugs and gives you one of his smirks. “Nothing I’m not used to.”

Nathan takes the first watch while you sleep. You don’t for most of the night. Even though you’re tired, your mind just won’t shut off. The events of the last few hours just replay again and again in your mind. When you fall asleep, they follow you. A nightmare waits for you as soon as you slip into sleep. Sam dies right in front of you. That’s what you see happen, and it feels so real. You know that Sam is alright and he’s just in the next room breathing and healing, but it seems so real.

As you stagger back from Sam’s lifeless body, you hear your name being called. It sounds so distorted, echoing around you, muffled as if you’re underwater.

Nathan’s shaking you awake. You look around, noticing suddenly that you fell asleep on your couch instead of making it back to your own bedroom.

“He’s asking for you,” Nathan says, moving over slightly for you to sit up.

You stretch out your muscles. “Is he okay?”

Nathan nods. “I took a look at the wounds: none of them are infected.”

You nod. “Good.”

Sunlight streams in through the half-drawn curtains of your living room. Looking at Nathan under this bright light, you notice how sunken his facial features are. You reach for his hand and take it in yours. “Are you okay?”

He sniffs. “I suppose.”

“I’ll give Sully a call,” you tell him, squeezing his hand lightly. “We can be out of the city within a few hours.”

When Nathan turns to look at you, your eyes soften at how tired he looks. You take the blanket off of you and throw it over his shoulders. “Get some sleep.”

He wordlessly collapses on to your couch. You help fluff the pillow slightly and tug the blanket over him.

“You’re too good for this,” he mumbles.

You press a kiss to his temple. “Sleep Drake.”

When you go to check on the other brother, you’re surprised to see him on his side facing the door.

“Mornin’,” Sam rasps. His head is pillowed on his arm, looking at you with eyes that have a lot more life in them compared to last night.

You walk over to the side of the bed and sit down on it. You run your fingers through his hair. “Can I check your back?”

Sam nods and rolls on to his stomach. You shove up his shirt and peel away the bandages you put over the stitches. It bled during the night, and the skin around it is red and raw, but it doesn’t look infected.

“They’re going to be looking for Nathan and me,” Sam says softly.

You put the bandages back on Sam’s wounds. “I know. Sully should be here with a ride soon, and we’ll be out of the city-”

“-What about your job?”

You frown. “It was just a cover,” you answer him, “we were never going to stay here anyway.”

Sam doesn’t respond after that. Happy that his wounds were healing just fine, you get up from the bed and let him rest. Before you leave the room, you hear him mutter something.

You look back at Sam. A small smile tugs at the corner of your lips when you see him try to lift his hand up from the bed. “What do you want now?” you walk back over to the bed, trying not to smile. He reaches out and takes your hand in his.

“Sammy?” you sit back down on the edge of the bed, still giving him enough room. There was warmth in his touch – something so different and welcomed from how cold he was just a few hours ago.

His gaze locks with yours. “I’m sorry that you got dragged into all of this.”

You squeeze his hand. “Don’t be: I knew the risks.”

You reach out to touch the side of Sam’s face. You brush the backs of your knuckles along his cheek. “Promise me something, though.”

Sam nods.

“Don’t ever do something that stupid again.”


	4. Sam Drake/Reader - Inferno

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PROMPT FILL: Sam/Reader meeting after fifteen years? Like post Uc4. They were a couple for 4 years before Panama. Sam promised to come back from there in one piece, obviously he didn't. Reader was heartbroken. So now it's something along "Samuel fucking Drake, you have some nerve showing up here after all this time." And please don't make Sam and Reader fall into each other's arms and live happily ever after? Reader is pissed, maybe willing to give Sam another chance, but he has to work for it really hard. - Tumblr Anon

The only warning you get is a text message from Nathan.

You haven’t seen him in a few months, when he went back to Elena in New Orleans and you continued travelling around the world for your research.

Getting a text from Nathan isn’t unusual. You spent years travelling with him and Sully, so when you finally parted ways, you were happy that you kept in close contact with each other.

When you fish your phone out of your pocket, you close your laptop and sit back in your office chair.

“ _Are you home?” – Nate_

You frown slightly at the question, but type your response. “ _Yeah, why_?”

It takes a while for his response to come through, but when it does, your frown only deepens.

“ _Just don’t freak out_.”

There’s a knock at your door. You save the document you have up on your laptop and close it for the night. Without the laptop’s monitor in front of you, you see the collection of photos on the wall opposite you. Most are of you and Nathan, either pulling silly faces or pictures you managed to take of each other when the other wasn’t looking. Some were of the places you had been to. The one in the middle though, the one you looked at more than most, was of you and Sam.

Even now, fifteen years after his death, your heart still ached every time you looked at it. You never took it down though. It was such a simple picture: just the two of you that Nathan managed to take one evening. You were in Panama, a week or so before the brothers went into that awful prison for the sake of the treasure you were supposed to find. You and Sam are just sitting on one of Panama’s beaches, looking out on to the red sea with a setting evening sun perched on top of the horizon.

You grip your phone a bit tighter. Another knock brings you back to the present.

You leave your office and shut the door behind you, somewhat grateful that Nathan is here to give you a break from looking at the same document again.

“It’s open Nate!” you call out.

You step out into the living room and you freeze.

Nathan is standing in the middle of your living room. Just over his shoulder, your eyes lock with Sam’s.

The world around you almost stops for a minute.

“Sam,” you breathe.

He looks different but his eyes are the same.

Sam clenches his jaw and looks down at his boots. When he looks up again, you have to put your hand on the doorframe to stop you from collapsing.

Nathan takes a few steps towards you. “Please don’t freak out-”

You barely hear him over the sound of blood rushing through your ears. Sam stands motionless on the other side of the room, leaning against one of the room’s walls. Even with the huge amount of space between you, you can make out all of the little things: the way he has only looked at you once since you came out, the way he seems to be shrinking back into himself, the way his hands are clasped together in front of him.

“-Get out,” you say, or you think you do. You don’t even hear your own voice.  “Just…. _get out_.”

Nathan stops walking towards you and looks over his shoulder to Sam.

“Nathan,” you raise your hand to stop him coming any closer. He looks between you and Sam again and his expression softens. You clench your jaw. “Get him out of my home,” you point at Sam.

You take a step back. “Get out!” you shout at him. Sam recoils slightly at the strength behind your words.

He looks over to Nathan and shoves his hands into his pockets.

He says your name again. You want to block your ears. Every word he says doesn’t seem real. The world starts to spin around you, the silence in the room becomes almost deafening.

You back into the hallway. “Just get out,” you wave you hand and turn away.

The small office that’s in your apartment is your haven. That’s why you keep the door to it shut. It’s your space.

You yank open the door and close it behind you. Surrounded by your books and research, you slide down the door, breathing heavily.

When you get your breath back, you walk to your desk and sit down in front of your laptop. Work would distract you. It always does. Researching took your mind off of Sam and his, now, _apparent_ death. It didn’t help that your heart was broken, but it kept you going.

So you work through the night. Or at least, you think you do. You work until three in the morning, and suddenly you wake up to find yourself in your own bed with a light blanket thrown over your still-clothed body. You rub at your eyes as bright beams of morning light come in through the half-closed curtains.

There’s a note on your bedside table.

_I’m sorry for surprising you like that, but he really wanted to see you again._

_I know you must be shocked. I was. I wouldn’t be surprised if you were angry too. Not just at Sam, but at me. I don’t know what’s worse: the fact that I didn’t want to tell you he was alive, or the fact that you went through mourning him mostly by yourself._

_Give him a chance?_

At the end of the note is an address of a hotel on the other side of the city. You crumple the note and let it drop on to the floor of your room. You tug your blanket over your head and fall back to sleep.

 

When you wake up again, its midday.

There are a few missed calls on your phone, all from Nathan.

You sit up in your bed and unlock your phone. Reading through the texts you got from Nathan, you gather that he and Sam are staying in the nearby hotel. You look at the crumpled note still on the floor beside your bed.

The pain in your chest is still there. Tightness that just doesn’t go away, making you feel like you’re suffocating.

He’s alive. After all of these years, he’s alive.

And Nathan knew.

You put your phone on the bed beside you, mindful that you could get so angry that you could throw it across the room and against a wall. Instead, you bury your face into your hands and breathe.

There’s a knock on your door.

You don’t lift your head up right away. You let your breathing become deep and regular, until the anger and sadness is pushed back to the furthest corner of your mind.

The knock comes again.

You stand up from your bed and grab one of your long-sleeved cardigans and tug it on. As you walk down the hall towards the door, there’s another knock. You pull it open and, as soon as you see the person standing out in the hallway, you want to slam it shut again.

“You have every right to be angry-”

“-I’m not angry, I’m _furious-_ ”

“-Let me explain-”

“-Why would I listen to _anything_ you have to say Samuel!” you grit through your teeth. Standing out in the hallway of your apartment block, you don’t care that one of your neighbours pokes their head out of their door to see what the yelling is about.

Sam, even as tall as he is, seems so small. His hands are shoved into his jacket pockets, his shoulders are slumped and his head is hanging.

You fold your arms in front of you. “You have a minute to explain,” you say lowly.

Sam takes a shaky breath. “I got shot in Panama,” he starts, frowning slightly. “I didn’t make it out with Nathan.”

“I know that,” you reply slowly, “I waited for you to come back.”

Sam winces. “I know you did.”

“And you didn’t.”

His jaw clenches. “And...I didn’t…”

Another neighbour’s head peers out into the hallway and you send them away with a glare.

“It’s a long story,” Sam sighs and runs his fingers through his hair. His fingers twitch slightly. Yours do, even with your arms crossed. His probably do out of nervousness. Yours do out of anger.

When he looks at you, you don’t soften your expression. There was a time before that you probably would. You would wrap your arms around him and forget everything that had happened.

But something changed in those fifteen years. Tears and mourning tore you apart, and you built yourself back up again. Now that Sam is back, standing in front of you, proving that you had been believing a lie for all of that time, you felt yourself starting to crack again.

“I’ll explain everything to you,” he says softly, “I swear, but…it’s just a lot.”

You laugh, slightly bitterly. “It must be a lot.”

Sam’s jaw clenches again. It’s a habit of his – something he does when he’s angry or upset. When something is really bothering him in his mind. You tighten your arms around yourself and look down the hallway.

“I was locked away for so long,” he mumbles. You barely hear it. He draws in another shaky breath. “They wouldn’t let me send any messages. I wanted to, Jesus Christ, I wanted to so badly. My own brother thought I was dead. _God_ , I can only imagine what you went through-”

You hold up your hand. “Stop,” you force out. The sadness and anger that you had bottled up since last night creep slowly out. You can feel the tears pricking the back of your eyes. You turn your head away, blinking them back.

Sam takes a small step towards you. “ _Please_ ,” he breathes, “I’ll explain everything to you, I promise, just…”

You fold your arms again. “Just what, Sam? I’ll just forget about all the pain I went through and we can live happily ever after?”

“No, of course not,” Sam rubs his hand over his face. “I don’t expect you to. Just…at least let me explain.”

It takes you a minute to react, but when you do, Sam flinches slightly. You hold out your hand.

“Do you have a phone?” you ask simply, keeping your voice steady even though all you want to do is cry and yell.

Sam is frozen in place for a second before he fidgets with his coat. He pulls out a phone from his pocket and hands it to you. It’s already unlocked.

“How long are you staying in the city?” you ask as you type in a coffee shop’s name and address into the phone’s notes.

Sam puts his hands back in his pockets. “I don’t know,” he replies. There’s a minute silence. “I was going to stay until you heard what I had to say.”

You look up at him and he averts his gaze from yours.

When you finish typing out the address you hand his phone back. “Explain everything to me there,” you nod to the phone in his hand, “and I mean _everything_.”

He takes a look at the address you’ve written down and pockets his phone. “We could go there now if you want?”

You shake your head. “I have a lecture to give in a few hours.”

Sam looks at you with a surprised look.

“Got my PhD the year after you… didn’t come back,” you shrug.

He smiles faintly. “Good. I know it’s what you wanted.”

You look back into your apartment. “I need to get ready,” you say, “so I’ll see you whenever you want.”

You step into your apartment and keep your hand on the door. Sam says his goodbyes, promising to call you later to arrange a time to go to the café. When he leaves, disappears around the corner of the hallway, and you close the door, you keep your hand on it for a moment. It’s what’s helping you stand up straight. Your energy is slowly leaving you. You drum your fingers over the wood of the door.

When you can stand up steadily without keeping your hand on the door, you breathe out a long sigh. “Fuck me,” you mutter to yourself. You shuffle back to your bedroom, shrugging off your cardigan and tossing it on to your bed. Your phone buzzes with a text message.

_“Thank you” – Nate_

You text him back. _I haven’t forgiven him_.

It takes a minute for a response to come through. _“I don’t expect you to. But thank you for giving him a chance to explain” – Nate_

You type your reply. _Have you forgiven him_?

It takes longer for a response to come through. “ _He’s my brother” – Nate_

You snort. _That’s not what I asked_.

Eventually, Nathan doesn’t respond anymore. You need to get ready for your lecture. Everything still plays through your head. Sam is alive, is what is repeated the most. Seeing him in front of you. Being able to feel the heat coming from his body when he took a step towards you. It was all real. You were terrified to reach out and touch him, in case it wasn’t, and he just faded away again.

You shake your head, trying to get the thoughts out of your mind.

He’ll explain himself. For now, at least, you could sleep easier knowing that he was alive.


	5. Sam Drake/Reader - Footsteps (Warning for Angst)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PROMPT: Loved your last angsty bit about the meeting after years. Need more angst tho. How would Sam react if reader told him she was pregnant when he went to Panama? But found out about it when he was already gone? They had a girl, but she died at age of 4. - Tumblr Anon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Referenced Child Death (they talk about their daughter dying. You never see it, but this was difficult to write because it hit a little too close to home. Putting a warning on this just in case.)

Sam was alive.

He had been alive for years, you found out from Nathan.

When the anger left your system, and you effectively destroyed every breakable thing in your living room, you answered the texts Sam had been sending you.

You hadn’t stopped looking at Sam since he walked into your apartment. Both of you were sitting on the couch in your living room, on either end with space between you.

One thing had been bothering you since he came back. One thing that’s been lingering in the back of your mind, slowly etching and chipping away at your mind, seeping through your thoughts until it was the only thing you could think about.

You tried to pay attention to Sam. You could see him talking, keeping his hands clenched in front of him.

You tried to breath as steadily as you could, but with every word coming out of his mouth – every word that grew fainter and fainter beneath the sound of blood rushing through your ears – the thought still lingered.

You’d have to tell him.

“Sam,” you finally managed to get out. It was what broke through a lull in your conversation. He looked to you, smiling faintly from the story he just told. He turned to you slightly and rested his arm along the back of the couch.

You took another breath. “I…There’s something you need to know,” you said softly. You didn’t look at him, but down at your hands clasped on your knees. “A few weeks after I heard that you…that you were dead,” it was a horrible word, but you managed to keep your voice steady, “I…I started…”

He was looking at you, you knew. Even looking down at your hands you knew his gaze was on you.

You sucked in a deep breath. “I found out that I was pregnant,” you breathed out in one breath. That was when you met his gaze. Sam’s eyes widened slightly, followed by a slight frown.

“I only found out after…after Nathan told me about Panama,” you explained slowly, “I thought that you were…She was born a few months later…She was beautiful Sam.”

“Was?” Sam’s voice cracked.

You got up from the couch, grateful that your legs were strong enough to carry you across the living room and over to a large bookcase. You reached up to one of the higher shelves and picked up a picture frame. The top of the frame was dusted slightly, but the glass that protected the picture was clear and shiny.

You walked back over to Sam, who hadn’t moved a muscle. He looked down to the picture frame in your hands and back up to you. “(Y/N)-”

You handed him the picture.

He took it slowly, not looking down at it straight away. When he did, his breath seemed to be punched out of him.

“She died,” you keep your voice tight. You don’t look at him. In your mind, you know you should. She was his daughter too. He didn’t even know she existed, and here he was, in your apartment at 2am, buzzed on wine and learning of his daughter’s existence and death. “She got sick in August. The doctors told me it was just a cold.”

Sam doesn’t breathe for a minute. His eyes scan over the picture.  He doesn’t even flinch a muscle when you sit down beside him, letting nothing about your knee touch against his.

He lets out a harsh breath. “She’s beautiful.”

You looked down at the photo. It’s the only one you have on display in your home. All of her other pictures were stored away in your office – locked in a case underneath your desk. The picture Sam’s held in his hands though…

You remembered the day it was taken. It had been a few months before she got sick. Nathan was the one to snap the picture. You were all at the park one day. Nathan had shared your loss of Sam. He was there for you when you lost her too. But before her illness, he had always come on outings with you, whether it was to a park or to a museum.

When Sam looked up at you, his eyes are red and watery. “What was her name?”

You swallowed the lump forming in your throat. “Avery,” you tried to smile, but it’s only faint and disappears as soon as Sam’s breath hitches. He looks back down at the photo. She looked just like him – with dark hair and hazel eyes, always looking for a tree to climb or a game to play. It broke your heart. She reminded you of Sam so much. And he had been gone.

Then she was too.

Sam reached out to take your hand in his. It was the first time you two had made any physical contact since he came back. Instantly, memories of him came rushing back to you. The warmth you felt from his hand reminded you of so much.

“I’m so sorry,” his voice shook, “I’m so, so sorry you had to go through that on your own.”

You blinked back the tears that stung the back of your eyes. “You were in prison,” you shrugged. “You didn’t know.”

“Still,” he breathed. You looked down at the picture. Both you and her were smiling brightly. In the background were the pillars of a museum’s front that you went to.

Sam ran his thumb along your knuckles, breathing steadily.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled.

For the first time since he came back, since you found out everything about the last fifteen years, you leaned against his side, resting your head on his shoulder. You stopped crying over Avery, now all that ever happened was a dull and painful ache in your chest. It was there now, wrapping around your heart and crushing it.

Sam rested his head against yours. “I’m here now,” he said. It was a moment before he continued. “If you want me to be, that is.”

You sniffed. “Yeah,” you squeezed his hand, “yeah I want you to.”


	6. Nathan Drake & Reader - Sam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nathan and you deal with Sam's death in Panama.

You remember when he told you: your legs collapsed from underneath you and you fell into his arms. The next thing you remember is being on the floor with him, crying and screaming _no_ over and over again. He didn’t say anything, but let you cry and scream until you eventually passed out.

When you came around again, you were on the couch with a blanket over you and a soft pillow under your head. On the coffee table in front of the couch was a glass of water and two aspirin tablets. At the other side of the room on another couch was Nathan, his face buried in his hands.

There was still a part of you that just didn’t believe it. You knew Nathan felt the same. But there was this unspoken agreement between the two of you: unless it was the anniversary, you didn’t mention Sam. You continued to travel with Nathan, picking up jobs and hopping from country to country, but memories of Sam never left the back of your mind.

When that day came, everything just felt numb. During whatever job or heist or research you were doing that day, you always took a moment just to think about Sam. You thought about the last promise he ever made to you: that he’ll be back before you even knew he was gone. Your heart ached and hurt worse than any gunshot wound you’ve ever gotten. Then that day would be over and you would be back to forgetting.

That day was the only day you ever allowed yourself to cry over Sam. You still did jobs with Nathan and Sully, so when you felt the numbness come back, you sought them out. Sometimes you had nightmares – you were in the prison with Sam and Nathan, you _saw_ Sam die, you felt as helpless as Nathan felt.

When you woke up, you always screamed. It was just too real.

Sometimes Sully would be there when you woke up, framing your face with his hands and making you look at him, promising you that everything was okay and that you were only dreaming. Sully would always pull a chair over to your bedside, and sit there until you fell asleep. He would always be there when you woke up the next morning.

Most times though, Nathan would be the one rushing into your room. He had nightmares too. His nightmares, though, were just memories.

His eyes always softened when he looked at you: the sheets of your bed kicked around, your clothes stuck to your skin. “I’m sorry,” you said.

Nathan shook his head. “I was awake anyway.”

Sometimes Nathan just went back to his own room, but always left your doors open so that, if you had another nightmare, he could get back to you quickly. Sometimes you asked him to stay. He always did. Even in the motels and hostels where the beds were small, Nathan lay down beside you. The nightmares never came back then.


	7. Sam Drake/Reader - Embers (PIRATE!AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While sailing to Florida, the Reader encounters a problem with a crew member.

It doesn’t happen a lot, but when it does it’s a problem.

It’s a problem that only arises with new crewmembers.

You were lying in bed one morning, wondering if you were ever going to work up the energy to get up. The ships have been sailing for two weeks now, and the next stop is Florida. The idea of going to a port that big puts panic in your blood. But you shake it off. You have Sam and his crew now.

Sam’s sleeping behind you: his chest pressed against your bare back, legs tangled together underneath the silken sheets of your cabin bed.

You brush your hair back from your face and push yourself up slightly from the bed. It’s enough for you to catch a glimpse outside your cabin’s window. The sun is starting to rise. You can already hear the gulls screeching outside, following your ship as you get nearer and nearer to Florida.

Sam shuffles behind you, tightening his hold around your waist. His breath is against your ear. “Go back to sleep,” he mumbles.

Despite better judgement, you shuffle back against him and decide to stay for another few minutes. As soon as you walk out your cabin door, you and Sam didn’t even touch each other. Your crews knew of you two, but it’s the integrity of the ship. You knew that as soon as you let your guard slip, the newer members of your crew would begin to act up.

You say the _newer_ editions of your crew because you’ve already struck fear into your older members. Crewmates that have seen you plunder and capture and kill. Those who know that you’re not above killing someone for even looking at you the wrong way.

Sam kisses the back of your neck. “What time is it?”

“First light,” you turn around in Sam’s arms and bury your head into his neck. He smells like Sam – dried sweat, sea salt and tobacco. You reach up and run your fingertips along his tattoo. His breath hitches.

“Stop that,” he says. You run your fingers along his neck again. “ _Stop_.”

“Why?” you smirk at him, “ticklish?”

“Of course not,” he mumbles, tightening his arms around you and bringing you against his chest. “I’m trying to sleep.”

You laugh lightly and settle for cupping Sam’s cheek with your hand. You run your thumb along his cheekbone, along a faded scar that you witnessed him getting.

Sam finally opens his eyes and raises his eyebrow at you. “Do you understand the concept of sleep?” he asks.

You smirk at him and press a light kiss to his lips.

Adowa stands at the door to your cabin. She folds her arms in front of her. “We need you out on deck, Captain.”

Sam drops his head on to your collar bone.

You look over your shoulder. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

Adowa frowns. “Your crew is fighting on the main deck.”

 

You and Sam dress quickly before following Adowa on to the main deck of your ship.

A few people are in the hallways talking among themselves, but quieten when they spot you storming pass.

It’s a new crewmember, one you picked up from a recent raid on a convoy ship. He’s been causing problems since.

Sam puts his arm in front of you when you get out on to the main deck. Your crew has formed a ring in the middle of the deck, encasing the man and another of your crewmates. You shove Sam’s hand away and stalk towards the two men.

Adowa follows you, pushing a few of the men out of your way. When you reach the centre, your anger only grows. The man has a cutlass gripped tightly in his hand, standing over one of your longest-serving crewmates.

“What the fuck is going on here?” you fold your arms over your chest. In your rush to get out, you notice the absent weight of your sword to your side. Even unarmed, you don’t worry. You could still fight the man in the middle of your deck.

He wipes the blood from his obviously broken nose and points the cutlass at you. Adowa stalks forward, her hand gripping her scimitar, but you raise your hand to stop her.

“A _woman_ is giving you commands!” he shouts at your crew. They’ve been with you long enough – none of them look towards you, or even move for that matter. The man – Jonathan, you think his name is – takes a step towards you. He sneers. “It was insulting enough that you hijacked our ship, but I would rather be killed than take orders from you.”

You turn around and walk towards Adowa, reaching for her daggers and unsheathing them. Your own sword is a cutlass, and Adowa’s daggers are lighter than what you’re used to, but you twirl them in your hand as you stalk back towards Jonathan. “You would rather die than take orders from me?” you repeat his words, stalking around the ring of people, circling Jonathan as you get a feel for the knives. The smile that appears on your face is almost feral. “I think that could be arranged.”

You don’t know how the Empire trains their soldiers, but their moves are heavy and predictable. Jonathan lunges for you with his sword raised high in the air. He brings it down heavily and you deflect the blow with one of your blades, bringing the movement down and away from your body. With the other blade, you bring it across his face, nicking the skin. A line of bright red appears along his cheek.

As Jonathan staggers away from you, you twirl the daggers in your hand again. Some of your crew are silent, watching wide eyed as you easily take on a man that’s a few inches taller than you and easily double your weight. Most of them, including Sam who’s standing off to the side, cheer you on. Adowa has her arms folded across her chest with her usual scowl on her face.

You turn back to Jonathan. “You have two options,” you tell him, making sure your voice is loud enough so everyone can hear you. You don’t want to deal with another mutiny. You stalk towards Jonathan with one dagger raised. “You can die here, with your guts hanging out of your stomach and across the deck of my ship. The sharks will have a feast when we toss you overboard.”

Jonathan’s eyes widen slightly.

“Or,” you smile, “we can just throw you over now. It’s a rather long swim to the Andreas Islands.”

Some of your crew cheer, urging you to throw him over now. The waters are infested with sharks. You’ve been spotting them for the last few days all along the islands.

Jonathan lunges for you again, a move you easily deflect again. Steel clashes against steel as you hold off his attacks with one of the daggers, reading the other in your hand, waiting for the right moment to strike.

He puts all of his weight into one of his attacks, bring the sword down heavily and knocking the blade from your hand. It clatters to the deck of the ship, sliding off to the side. It stops at the feet of one of the crew. He picks it up and attempts to toss it back to you. You hold up your hand and shake your head. “I don’t need it Jack,” you say as you walk around the ring, trying to get to that one place one Jonathan’s body to kill him.

He must have some training, because he’s defending it. His throat is what you’re aiming for. The way he stands though, you just can’t get to it.

There’s more than one way to kill a man.

You think of anything else you can hit – chest, abdomen and groin comes to your mind.

Jonathan attacks again, clasping the pommel of the sword with two hands and raising it high in the air. Spotting the opening, you strike quickly – stepping out of the way of Jonathan’s strike, but driving the dagger’s blade quickly towards his bared throat.

It takes a split second for the dagger to puncture the skin. Hot blood pools out through the wound, running down the dagger’s blade and on to your fingers. You remember a time where you would have felt queasy at the sight of blood. That was a you from years ago who had yet to understand the ways of the world. A you that was only destined to be married off with the other girls of your town.

You rip the dagger out of Jonathan’s throat and his body falls heavily to the ground, thumping against the wooden deck. The crew cheers and shouts.

You watch him for a second: revelling slightly in the sight of the bright red blood spilling from his mouth and on to the wooden deck. His hand is wrapped around his neck in a panicked attempt to stop the bleeding.

Within a minute or so his body stills. You look up to the nearest crew member – a young man called Charlie. “Throw him overboard,” you order him. He immediately grabs Jonathan’s body and hauls him up and over the railing of the ship.

You wipe the blood from Adowa’s daggers and hand them back to her. You press a kiss to her scarred cheek and wink at her. “Thank you,” you smile. She scowls and starts barking orders to the crew to start cleaning the deck of blood and a body.

You roll up the sleeves of your shirt, ready now to start the day of sailing towards Florida.

Sam walks over to you with a broad smile on his face. “I never get tired of watching you fight,” he says lowly, standing a bit too close to you. You take a step away from him, putting enough of a distance between you to stop anything from happening.

“Good,” you tie back your hair, “I don’t think I’m going to stop fighting.”

Sam laughs and looks out to sea. His own ship is following yours. His crew are loyal, people you trust with your life. They would dream of fighting against Sam like Jonathan did to you. Without warning, Sam brushes a stray strand of hair from your face and behind your ear. It’s such a gentle gesture that you’re taken back slightly.

Sam holds your chin between his forefinger and thumb. You want to look around at the deck and make sure no one is staring. No one would after what they’ve just witnessed. But the thought still lingers in your mind.


	8. Sam Drake/Reader - Distraction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Reader is used for a distraction. Sam gets jealous.

You look between the two Drake brothers.

“You’ve got to be shitting me,” you say lowly. A few waiting staff walk around you. Sam plucks two glasses of champagne from a passing waitress’s platter. He hands one to you and you take it, making sure to glare at him as you take a sip.

“We just need a distraction,” he shrugs, taking a sip of his own drink.

You turn your glare to Nathan. “No, no. A _distraction_ would be the lights shutting off or an explosion. What you’re asking me to do-”

“-Is aiding your favourite thieves get a key card for them,” Sam finishes for you with one of this trademark smirks.

You roll your eyes and finish off your drink. On the other side of the ballroom is the mark, chatting idly with people here for an auction.

“You _owe_ me,” you mutter under your breath as you stalk off towards your mark.  

 

It sometimes scared you how easily you could fall into a role. What scared you even more was how many people actually fell for it. The whole theatrics of it was summarised by Sully once when you had to fawn over another mark for the sake of a job – “It’s shocking what men will do for the batting of a pretty lady’s eyelashes.”

 

Sam watches you walk through the crowd and towards the owner of the estate.

Sully and Nathan are behind him, running through the last of the plan. He can barely hear them. He’s sure Nathan is talking to him, but he ignores his brother to watch you. He clenches his jaw at the sight of you bumping against the man’s shoulder and knocking his drink on to his jacket.

He watches you apologise for bumping into the man, how the mark looks you up and down. You pat your hands along his suit jacket, feeling for where the key card to the door is.

Sam folds his arms in front of him, conscious that he could lash out if his hands were to his sides.

“Are you listening?”

Sam turns around and sees both Nathan and Sully staring blankly at him. “Sorry,” he turns back around to the two other men, “run that by me again.”

 

You don’t even know the guy’s name. Nathan probably mentioned it when you were driving over here, but you couldn’t care less.

He’s the usual wealthy type, one with a big ego. You zone out of the conversation you’ve been dragged into about his many estates throughout the world.

The key card is definitely on him. It’s inside his jacket, close to the edge. All you need to do is slip your hand in. As you look around you, you don’t notice any bodyguards or security. The only people that surround you are the other wealthy.

You keep you your smile. You could wait.

 

Halfway through running through the plan, Sam looks over to you again.

You walk through the crowds, weaving your way through people until you’re with the guys again. You pass the card to Nathan and fix your hair.

“He wasn’t suspicious, was he?” Sully asks you. You shake your head.

“He didn’t even notice.”

Sully claps his hand onto your shoulder and smiles brightly at you. “Good job kid.”

Sam catches you by the wrist as you walk past him. His grip is firm enough to make you stop, but not enough for it to hurt. “What?” you ask.

Sam’s expression is neutral. “Do you know that you’re _extremely_ good at that?”

You smirk. “You’re jealous.”

“No I’m not.”

“Yes you are Samuel Drake,” you laugh lightly. Nathan swipes the card through the card-reader to unlock the door and waves the two of you over. You pull your hand away from Sam. “Besides, it was _your_ idea.”

You all manage to slip in unnoticed and close the door behind you. Nathan and Sully run ahead of you and Sam, eventually disappearing behind a corner. You’re about to follow them when Sam snatches your wrist again and pushes you gently against the wall.

“Sam,” is the only thing you manage to say before he kisses you fiercely. You close your eyes and wrap your arms around Sam’s shoulders, bringing him closer to you. For a minute, you forget about escaping from the estate.

You feel one of Sam’s hands go to your waist. It runs down the outside of your thigh, hitching it over his hip.

He pulls away from the kiss and leans his forehead against yours. “We’re talking about this later,” he growls.

You roll your eyes. “Talking? That’s funny.”


	9. Sam Drake/Reader - Libertalia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PROMPT: Hiii ! Could you write a sam drake x reader prompt where they have this crazy idea of going back to libertalia? :) - Tumblr Anon

The Portugal job went as well as you expected it to.

Sully is waiting for you and Sam in a car at the end of the street. Bullets whizz past you as you try to avoid the guards following you.

Sam gets in front of you and pulls the car’s door open. You both hop in and barley have time to shut the door before Sully speeds off.

It takes a while to get out of the city, but once the cityscape’s lights are replaced by quiet roads, Sully starts to slow down.

You share a look with Sam before you both start laughing breathlessly. “Never a dull moment,” Sam chuckles as he leans back against the seat and runs his fingers through his hair.

Sully looks at you both through the rear-view mirror. “I take it that you got it then?”

You nod and hold up the document – a page from an old manuscript that, once deciphered, should point you in the right direction. Sully flashes you a bright smile before looking back to the road. “Well done kid.”

Sully gets you all away from the city. He drives for two hours before stopping in a small quite town to refuel.  Sully fills up the car and sticks his head back into the car. “Do you want anything kid?”

You shake your head. When Sully leaves, Sam rolls down the window so he can light up a cigarette.

You throw your arm over the back of the couch. “What’s on your mind?”

Sam takes a long drag of his cigarette.

“Just thinkin’,” he sighs.

“That’s dangerous,” you smile, running your fingers through his hair. It’s getting longer with each passing day, but he won’t let you or anyone else try and cut it.

His mind is still somewhere else though. You rub the back of his neck and shuffle closer to him, throwing your leg over his. “Talk to me,” you press. You toe off your heels you’ve worn for the heist, and let them drop down somewhere on to the car’s floor.

Sam sighs again and takes another long drag of his cigarette. “I was thinking about going back to Libertalia.”

It’s something that takes you back slightly. You frown. “The treasure is gone Sam. The cave collapsed-”

“-I’m not talking about the treasure,” he says. He throws the cigarette out the window. He clenches his jaw. “My mom spent so much time researching Avery and Libertalia.”

He didn’t talk about his mom a lot. Cassandra seemed like an enigma. Every time Sam did talk about her, she intrigued you.

You messaged the back of Sam’s neck with your fingertips. “What were you thinking?”

“I want to go back,” he shrugs, “to the city itself. Nathan and I didn’t get much time to explore it all.”

You can see Sully leaving the store and walking towards the car. You bite the inside of your cheek. Libertalia had changed you all: whether it was for better or worse, you still weren’t sure.

“We can talk about it later,” you assure him, “but if it’s something you really want to do, then we can go.”

You are back on the road when he mentions it again. Sully drives while you and Sam rest in the back. You’re almost drifting off to sleep when Sam mumbles, “I don’t care about the treasure.”

You turn slightly to face him. Your legs are still thrown over his with your head resting against his shoulder.

“I know you don’t,” you reply.

Sam presses a chaste kiss to your forehead. “You’re my greatest treasure.”

“What a line,” you laugh lightly. Sam smiles brilliantly before dissolving into giggles.

“I try my best.”

 

Both of you spend nights talking about it. You could see it in his eyes – he really wanted to go back. The treasure was gone and buried in that cave, but you didn’t need convincing that it wasn’t what he wanted anymore. It seemed like the Sam that was so obsessed with that treasure was buried along with it.

 

Waves crest against the side of the boat. The side of the boat is low enough for you to reach out to the water and skim your fingertips along the water as you sail through.

Sam looks over his shoulder to you. “We’re getting close,” he calls over the noise of the boat.

You can see the island’s mountain through the soft fog that surrounds it.

Sam flashes you a small smile. “Thank you.”

You join him at the steering wheel of the boat. “It’s what you wanted,” you reply. It’s so quite now. Granted, the last time you were here, you were blown out of the boat by Shoreline and hunted through the forests. The only sound you can hear now is the hum of the boat’s engine.

The boat slows down as you get closer to shore. Jagged rocks litter the coastline, you remember them so well.

You stiffen slightly as you think back. Sam must notice it.

“It’s different this time,” Sam assures you, taking one of his hands off of the wheel and takes your hand.

When you get to shore, Sam stays behind on the boat to properly anchor it. The beach separates the crystal blue waters from the thick undergrowth of the jungle. Just above the treetops you spot the mountain. Sam comes up behind you and wraps his arms around your waist.

“What are you thinking about?” he leans his chin against your shoulder.

You turn to look at him. “Just taking it all in.”

Sam hums and brings you closer to him. It’s surreal being back here. The memories of what happened are still so fresh in your mind.

You wiggle out of Sam’s hold and grab his hand. “Come on then, Mr Drake,” you smirk, “we’ve got a city to explore.”

**Author's Note:**

> My tumblr: yourqueenforayear.tumblr.com
> 
> Drop by prompts if you would like to see something! A lot of these drabbles will also be posted on my Tumblr.
> 
> Kudos and Comments more than welcome!


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